The Wallflower and the Bee
by Talulasaurus
Summary: AU In a world where Kurt's Dalton's resident wallflower, forced into introversion by a 'disability' that he can't show anybody. Somehow Blaine becomes an exception to 'anybody'. Magic may be involved.
1. Enters Bee

**A/N: **

This story is set in a completely alternative universe, one in which McKinley held no place in Kurt's timeline. Also magic.

I do my best to keep characters cannon though keep in mind that Kurt has had a different life and has had to be more introverted because of this.

Eventual Klaine

_There will be more authors note at the bottom._

**DISCLAIMERS**_**: **_

_I own nothing other than the pure au aspects of my storyline. _

_Mild language._

I am a wallflower, physically at the least. Mentally there are no social speed bumps in my metaphorical road; I frolic around with harmonies bursting from my lips and the adoration of my peers. I like to think of myself as conversationally selective instead of the more obvious word choice of shy, because, well I'm really not shy; introversion was forced upon me and a role I must play. The thing is I'm not your average teenager, I'm somewhat gifted and were the general public to know of my gift it would be more likely than not that I would end my days in a very rat like fashion, laboratory and all. To say the least, I must not draw attention to myself, mistakes happen and if I were continually around people who actually paid me attention, well let's just say the stakes would have been high.

For this reason I spend my time in the library where the only people who lurk incessantly are as scared of you as you are of them, not that I am, scared of them that is. Dalton's library is beautiful mind you, all chestnut, leather and spiral staircases, a place where you can get lost in the smell of the old and the words of the pages. It was as I was loitering by the biography section pretending to be studying when in fact I was skimming over already read pages trying to waste my new year's eve that I noticed him. Blaine Anderson, with his facial features soft though simultaneously striking with perpetually bee-stung lips and honey eyes fringed with dark curling lashes which he has a habit of looking up through when people address him. As unattainable as he is he still manages to radiate warmth and humanity, a trait that none of the other popular kids seem to have mastered, instead sneering from their heights. If our school had a monarchy then Blaine would be the king, the lead man of the glee club and beloved of all. He's sitting the table over in a leather arm-chair; his prefect badge seemed to gleam on his chest with his back oh so straight. Something I could still never master, I'm not from a privileged background like the boys surrounding me, I don't know how my father could afford to send me here but I'm not normal and kids pick up on that pretty quickly. Imagine being gay and supernatural; high schools bad enough as it is, Dalton's strict policies let me live in peace, so long as I ignored the whispers. Not that the popular students whisper, no they were above that and above us; perhaps it's worse that it's the social out-casts laughing at me, and by laughing I mean out of nervousness. I have that effect on people, with my eerie silence and the unusual incidents that seem to follow in my wake, I put people on edge.

Over the top of my book I let my gaze sit on Blaine, he seems to be struggling with whatever he's doing, his faces screwed up and remarkably pale, almost as pale as mine in fact. He pulled a tissue to his mouth hastily and began vigorously coughing into in before rushing from the room.

I felt weirdly protective over him, watching his things lying vulnerable on the table. Feeling a need to do something I wrote out a little note:

_I watched over your stuff don't worry _

There was no way he could realise it was me who left it but it had my heart racing as I sat back and continued to feign reading.

After a while of debating taking back my note a boy with a perpetual smirk and matching quiff approached Blaine's table, picking up the phone and turning it over in his hands.

"Hey, that's not yours leave it alone"

Raising an eyebrow the boy turned to face me,

"I was just-"

"Leave it" coldness coloured my tones as I stared straight into his eyes.

"Okay, okay." He began mockingly stepping backwards with his hands up whilst I attempted to keep my scowl at bay.

Watching his figure retreating I attempted to calm myself and settle my racing heart. I shouldn't have done that. I'd never done it before; drawing attention to oneself isn't acceptable, it allows for slips and questions. Nothing good could come of this; more than even my fear of being discovered is my fear of mistakes. I never used to think this much, I don't know if this is what growing up means or if it's because I have more time than most, I watch people buzzing around me laughing and crying, loving and not knowing. They jump in feet first rarely thinking, I guess not participating means I get to watch them make their mistakes; that's a lot to think about because they make so very many mistakes. Some deep dark hidden away part of me welcomes the darkness that they expose themselves to, the pain and the anger. Not the emptiness though, no part of me craves that. I very much hope that I'm not the only person who has a tiny voice that they ignore, a voice that calls the pain forth. I'd broken my one rule over a misguided and unjust sense of protectiveness.

Suddenly I was watching everyone, an overbearing sense of suspicion and paranoia clouding my thoughts. A girl sitting two tables across, had she been watching? Had I slipped up without realising? No, she was crying, the type of tears only I see. The silent tears that get hidden behind books and phones, the tears people cover up by pretending to be quietly busy, the tears that need a second look to be noticed. Maybe if I were normal it'd be different, maybe I would never look twice, maybe I would be naïve and happy; but I'm not, my daydreams aren't real.

Abruptly an arm reached over the table before me and placed a piece of paper on my book, my note. Looking up already feeling the heat rise from my neck I found Blaine grinning down at me,

"Thank you" I still managed to register how his voice sounded like velvet even in the mess that had just become of my head.

"How did you know?"

I watched his grin slowly transform into a smirk "Well a friend of mine came to get me my stuff and apparently there was a little kitty with his back all arched and defensive."

"I…"

"Now the only one who could fit that description around here is…" he let his head look around the room in an exaggerated manner before letting his gaze fall back on me "well you"

"I thought he was stealing it, I really didn't mean to-"

His flashed that beautiful smile once more that let me know he was at least slightly teasing me before settling down across from me. I noted that his face had somewhat regained its golden glow.

"Thank you, really." His voice positively oozed sincerity

"It's okay"

"Well, see you around new kid."

"New kid, I'm not new?"

"Course you are I would have noticed such a pretty face around before."

"Well I'm good at not being noticed"

I watched his eyes light up with what seemed like curiosity until his attention was broken by a bundle of boys (with a certain smirk-with-quiff among them) bursting in.

"Blaine!" They hollered upon noticing

Straightening up I found we'd been leaning across the small table.

"Rehearsaaals" Smirk sang.

"Well" Blaine smiled "It was nice meeting you new kid"

I watched silently as he stood his hand reaching out to meet smirks, and they were gone.

**A/N:**

**Firstly I'd love to know people's reactions so that I can weigh up whether this is worth continuing.**

Now I know that in canon Dalton doesn't have outcasts or teachers for that matter but just for the sake of my story Dalton isn't going to be portrayed so perfectly.

Using my poetic license once again Dalton is a boarding school. Though I may get some distinction between English and American boarding school's muddled.

_Now as for followers of my work:_

_I will continue with 'Eat my Heart Out' at some point, I promise, I love writing it but my work load became so heavy at college that I needed to focus. So you might say Holly then why are you writing this? Well dear reader, it popped into my head and has continued to hold a place there nagging me to write it down and of course once written why ever would I not publish? Besides EMHO is really intense to write._

_Basically SilverfoxCFL I hope the little notification for this story didn't make you hate me too much as it popped up in your email. _

_I do however have a whole chapter written and ready for 'EMHO' I am simply hesitant about publishing it because it is a huge pinnacle in the story and will leave a million questions in its wake, if you still want said chapter Pm me or tell me so in a review and I will upload it and then continue with my break, sorry._


	2. Pollen

**DISCLAIMERS:**

**Once again I own nothing other than the pure au aspects of my story line, I'm no Ryan Murphy.**

I'm drunk, well, not quite, but I soon will be. I am here for 2 reasons; the first is that it is New Year's Eve so fuck it. The second is that Blaine Anderson is attending a party that I, yes nobody Kurt Hummel have also been invited to. By invited I mean drunkenly told I could use the bathroom. The party's being held by a weekly, in other words a student who only sleeps at the school on weekdays, perhaps something to do with the fact that his family lives within a fifteen minute walk. We're not officially allowed to stay out late but really no one's checking on us anyway.

Sebastian's was a grand house, the kind of house that only really belongs on TV, thus giving me the impression of being in a movie, an 80's movie. With red cups and kegs littering the rooms, people paired up against the walls with their hands wandering, someone passed out on the couch that had become the party's canvas and laughter, so much laughter, I don't think I'd heard as many people having fun before.

I walked to the edge of the room, assuming my usual role of wall-flower. Said wall was plastered in framed photographs of a beautiful family. A woman with waving brunette hair and a soft face in the arms of a handsome man with cold eyes, but not my father's type of cold eyes either, _real_ cold eyes. I let my gaze dance across the photographs; an only child like me. Him playing in a sandpit with dungarees and green innocent eyes, the little boy wearing presumably his own pants on his head running down the hallway naked, the boy older smiling a familiar smile but this time stiffer posing for a school photograph, older still his eyes looking marginally more like his fathers, and again but now with a matching smirk. I looked down at my red cup, the next photo was sure to show a matching quiff. So 'smirk' was Sebastian Smythe. I felt suddenly intruding, as though I had laid his life out before me and probed it, which essentially I had.

I wondered what people would think if they looked at my family photographs.

My mother died in childbirth but there was someone else, perhaps it's a betrayal to the mother who gave her life for me but my father dated a woman for several years and I loved this woman dearly. One day when I was eight years old this woman didn't come home, I cried out for her every night for three weeks and took to calling her my mother, though my father told me to never use that word he encourages me to think of her in a maternal way. I loved her very much, I really did. She's the reason I hide issues of Vogue under my mattress; to see people who look beautiful like her, who hold themselves like her, who are glamorous like her. I can't bear to speak of her in past tense as we so often do with the absent; to me she is timeless literature that is now and new even though the memory is engrained into my mind evermore.

I love her more than I love my father, I'm not saying that I don't love my father, that's not what I'm saying at all. My father is distant, with every advance I make he pushes, but every so often in that moment between my cries for his affection and his detached eyes I see it; so bright that it almost hurts to look at. I see the sun in my father's eyes, I think it's his love; I have to believe that because I can't cope with any alternatives.

A voice whispered over my shoulder causing it to tense, his breath rolling over my neck, alcohol and peppermint filling my nostrils.

"Welcome to my humble abode…"

"Your hair's… wild to say the least kitty." Sebastian purred against me, his fingers gently running up the back of my neck and winding themselves into my hair.

Looking up I mustered the most monotone voice I could manage "rebellious follicle syndrome."

His wild eyes met mine, our noses so close and I felt the tips of my fingers prickle in response.

Shaking myself out of his snake-like trance I rushed from the room, there are lots of things that I could use to describe Sebastian and funnily enough they're all animals.

Breaking out of the warmth of the room I slipped out the French doors letting the wind slash at me, whipping along the edges of the outer-wall, desperately trying to find an entrance but finding me and instantly drawing the rose from my cheeks. With my back against the unyielding brick and my chest heaving I set to calming my nerves, ceasing the prickling sensation that had begun to ascend my arms.

I heard the doors click and knew someone had followed me out, I felt my whole body tense.

"Are you okay? You look like he shook you up pretty bad." Blaine, he had the whole drunk but sobering up vibe going for him.

"Don't worry about me, he just, he comes on strong doesn't he?" I replied

"Yeah don't worry about him; he… does that to people."

"You don't say" My whole sentence came out in a rush of air.

"I mean it's not exactly fair to come on so heavily to a straight guy" Blaine hastily added

"That was him coming on to me? Wait, straight?"

At that moment of all moments we heard a chorus of a countdown begin, midnight.

"10, 9, 8"

"You are straight right?" somehow we'd ended up so close that all that was between us was our frosty breath was mingling.

"7, 6, 5, 4"

"No" It came out in a whisper

"3, 2"

"Oh" His voice managed to come out even softer than mine had.

I didn't get to hear the '1' or the cheers, all of my senses had manifested to a single point; the feel of Blaine's lips parting against mine, his breath slipping into my mouth, the taste of beer on his tongue.

As the kiss deepened the prickling began to ball up tight, manifesting in my stomach before burning its way up my throat until it was constricting my breathing and forcing me to break away.

I've never ran so hard in my life, I was crying equally as hard.

I could still feel his kiss on the tip of my nose where he had pulled his face lower; stroking his face down mine momentarily until his lips had found mine, lingering on my hot skin.


End file.
